When biting Boreas, fell and dour, Sharp shivers thro’ the leafless bow’r; When Phœbus gies a short-liv’d glow’r, Far south the lift, Dim-dark’ning thro’ the flaky show’r Or whirling drift; Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked, While burns, wi’ snawy wreaths up-choked, Wild-eddying swirl, Or, thro’ the mining outlet bocked, Down headlong hurl; List’ning the doors an’ winnocks rattle, I thought me on the ourie cattle, Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle O’ winter war, And thro’ the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle Beneath a scar. Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing! That, in the merry months o’ spring, Delighted me to hear thee sing, What comes o’ thee? Whare wilt thou cow’r thy chittering wing, An’ close thy e’e? Ev’n you, on murdering errands toil’d, Lone from your savage homes exil’d,— The blood-stained roost and sheep-cote spoil’d My heart forgets, While pitiless the tempest wild Sore on you beats. Now Phœbe, in her midnight reign, Dark muffl’d, view’d the dreary plain; Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, Rose in my soul, When on my ear this plaintive strain, Slow, solemn, stole:— ‘Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost! Descend, ye chilly smothering snows! Not all your rage, as now united, shows More hard unkindness unrelenting, Vengeful malice unrepenting, Than heav’n-illumin’d man on brother man bestows! See stern Oppression’s iron grip, Or mad Ambition’s gory hand, Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, Woe, want, and murder o’er a land! Ev’n in the peaceful rural vale, Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale How pamper’d Luxury, Flatt’ry by her side, The parasite empoisoning her ear, With all the servile wretches in the rear, Looks o’er proud property, extended wide; And eyes the simple rustic hind, Whose toil upholds the glitt’ring show, A creature of another kind, Some coarser substance, unrefin’d, Plac’d for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below.